We Danced With Butterflies
by Sister-of-Tal-Kyrte
Summary: The two children who had frolicked hand-in-hand amongst the spirits of the earth had waned into mere whispers. This alien and wild Robin of the Hood was not the Robin of Locksley she had loved since she was yet still a girl. Robin of Locksley - of her memories and dreams - was forever gone.


"You love him."

Edward's tired old eyes, sunken deeply into his face by the lines of age, turned to her. "Daughter-"

"No!" Marian cried. The skirts of her gown swished furiously as she turned her back to her father. Her very spirit trembled inside her chest, and she sucked down air with thirst. Couldn't the old man see? T-This . . . man, this _outlaw_ was not the Robin of Locksley she had once pledged her heart to.

Robin of Locksley she had loved since she was a child. He was the little boy who had rescued her from her embroidery, and she was an alluring bud that had not yet begun to flower. His eyes would twinkle with mischief and adventure before he would grab her hand and dart into the forest, she scampering along behind. And it was under a sky of foliage that they would play. They would run as swift and far as horses, hair flying in the wind. They would fly with the birds; their humanchild voices falling and rising with the ballads of a wild dove. Together, they would dance with butterflies as the Almighty Sun dug its way back into the earth and darkness fell.

And one day, with only the Sun and Sky to witness, Robin had looked at her very strangely, before quickly kissing her rosy child's cheek. Eyes wide, she had barely a moment to watch before Robin bolted off into the recluse of the trees. She was astonished, yes, but there was a strange warmth that enveloped her, as happy and as bright as a summer's day. Her eyelashes fluttered, pulling the lids closed, as she allowed the warmth to pulsate throughout her breathing body. She smiled, and pink apples formed on her cheeks. Her eyelashes flickered open, and then she scampered away, taking the direction opposite of Robin.

They had never spoken of that moment. Robin had pretended nothing had happened, and they had returned to hiding like rabbits in the forest. But she had held the memory, treasured and secret, deep inside the writings of her heart. And to this day, the strange warmth would still flicker, whenever the stronghold that securely housed the reminiscence was unlocked.

As the Almighty Sun continued to rise, and as Time continued to pass, the innocence of children transformed to the hot headed passion of adolescents. In the forest, they no longer frolicked with the spirits of the earth, but trained for battles and war. Robin, consumed with a fiery loyalty for the King, practiced the arts of the sword and bow. He would teach her, under the protective limbs of mother-trees. And so she, a woman, learned to fight as a soldier preparing for war. In spite her newfound knowledge, she could not help but smile when Robin danced as he once did with butterflies upon hitting a mark with his bow.

They were adults now. Her breasts had swollen, ripe and tender, and waiting for the suckling of some babe. Moon blood had trickled between her legs. Now a flower and no longer a bud, men filtered in and out of her father's estates, hoping to be the one to pluck the blooming Lady Marian. But it was Robin whom her father had welcomed.

He had sauntered up to her father's threshold with arms filled with fresh picked wildflowers, and a smile as bright as the sun. Who was this man, with strong shoulders and agile fingers, and hair sprouting from his chin? Surely this could not be the boy who had thrown her sampler in the mud, and defiantly declared that she was a much better shot than she was a seamstress. Yet one look into his laughing blue eyes, and she knew he was him.

The wedding was to be in the spring. All of Nottingham was abuzz. The Sheriff's daughter was to marry the Lord of Locksley! There was a feast to prepare, relatives to be sent for, a priest to be called, flowers to be plucked. Her wedding dress had been made of the finest green silk, and pieced together by hands far more skilled and patient than her own.

She had lived in this engagement bliss while she attempted to stitch her wedding linens and her maids ruined her innocence with the secrets of marriage. At night, rustling between her sheets, she would dream of when the wedding bells had faded away. There would be children who smiled and laughed like Robin. And when the sun had set and all was dark, there would be the deep, heavy breathing of a man lying next to her.

Her dreams shattered in the light of day. Robin had marched off after the King to Crusade the Holy Land for the God in Heaven. And after five long, barren years, it was not him that returned. His spirit had morphed. The grime of the Holy Land was still upon him, no matter how he might wash his soul with passionate speeches.

Robin of Locksley was gone. A stranger had sprung from his ashes, this Robin of the Hood. This new Robin ignited peasants' hearts and toyed dangerously with the Sheriff. He skulked in the shadows of the woods, hiding amongst murderers and thieves. This man boasted of his brazen insolence, and laughed at his own insubordination. Nottingham was a game, and all the populace his playing pieces. How many more would have to die before he realized his impertinence?

"No. . . No!" she resolved, clutching her barren womb. "I do not love this man."


End file.
